


To be irresistibly desired

by DivineSquishy



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineSquishy/pseuds/DivineSquishy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saeki hasn't seen Ryou for years, but one fateful encounter tears old wounds back open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To be irresistibly desired

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written for this fandom in years and then suddenly this happened. Oops? :c
> 
> But yes, have some good old-fashioned SaeRyou angst, because the world always need more SaeRyou.

Saeki shakes his head without a word when his colleague offers him a cigarette. There’s rain dripping down his hair and into his eyes, making him blink repeatedly. He hadn’t bothered with an umbrella before he came out here. Perhaps he would have, before, all smiles and laughter and _I’m sure it’ll clear up soon_. Now he finds himself wishing for it to keep raining all day. The thought is a strange one when he thinks back to how he used to be.

_We should break it off. I’m still only a replacement to you after all, aren’t I?_

It wasn’t the first time he’d been dumped like that and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Like he’d ever be able to forget long, long hair that felt like silk under his touch, or those dark, smoldering eyes. With a sigh he lets his head thud against the concrete wall of the building, the umbrella his colleague – friend? – had brought out only half shielding him from the rain.

It’s not that he’s particularly depressed about getting dumped, it’s more of the realization that even after all those years, even after losing contact, he still can’t forget Ryou. 

“I know where you can find some comfort.”

And honestly, Saeki doesn’t even care where he’s taking him, he’ll just go along with it like always, like some sort of ritual, because mostly he has good ideas.

Perhaps not this time, he thinks, when they arrive in front of what in theory looks like a food shop, down some side alleys that smells of piss and things Saeki doesn’t want to think about. The signs are faded and yellowed and what is apparently supposed to pass for food looks hardly appetizing and he’s just about to shoot his companion a rather incredulous look when he notices the man inside.

His hair is still impossibly long, but matted, like he hasn’t had the time to take care of it. The burning fire in his eyes is gone, replaced by a dull look of uncaring. And still Saeki stops breathing for a moment, because how could he not recognize this man?

“Ryou? That’s you, isn’t it?” There is an amount of disbelief in his voice, because really, what _would_ Ryou be doing in a place like this, and yet the answer he gets is bored, disinterested.

“Do I know you?”

At those words it’s like an icy hand clamps down on his heart, makes it hard for him to breathe. Was he wrong? Could he really mistake the face that’s been haunting his dreams for years on end? He’s about to speak again when his colleague elbows him in the side, steps in front of him. “We’d like the other menu. Sorry, boy.”

It’s only when the man rolls his eyes and pulls out a sheet filled with names and pictures from a shelf that it dawns on Saeki what kind of shop this is.

“You want me to buy myself someone?” he hisses, all the while glancing back up at the guy in the shop whose bored expression remained unchanged.

All he gets in response is a shrug. “No one judges you here. Buy yourself some comfort.”

The offhanded way that statement is made sends an uneasy sensation down his spine. He makes it sound as if all those boys on that impersonal list weren’t humans with feelings as well – but then, so were the men he’d been going out with, and what he’d done to them hadn’t been entirely fair either. Still, it should matter why they were selling their bodies to complete strangers, it shouldn’t just be a matter of _buy yourself some comfort_ because it’s their job.

Saeki finds himself scanning the list despite himself, nearly bites his tongue when he finds _his_ picture on there. 

_Kisarazu Ryou. 25._

He’d been right. He’d never been able to forget that name, had sometimes found boyfriends with the same name just so he’d be able to imagine the real person underneath him when they had sex, just so he could call out the right name.

God, he was messed up in the head.

Yet here he is, on a list of men to buy, to do with whatever he wants, and it’s not helping Saeki think clearly.

“I’ll have you.” He doesn’t quite manage to look Ryou in the eye, all dull and without the life in them that he’d loved so much, but in this moment he can’t bring himself to care. He _wants_ , has wanted for so long that he’s not even taking the time to wonder why Ryou is even here, selling himself to people he doesn’t know. That he doesn’t think about how wrong this whole situation is.

 

The room Ryou takes him to upstairs is small and slightly dirty, outfitted with only the bare necessities. A bed, condoms and lube lying on a stool beside it. There’s absolutely nothing personal about it, and yet when Ryou turns to look at him, asks him “What would you like me to do for you?” his qualms fly straight out the window yet again.

The movement is near automatic when he takes a hold of Ryou’s waist, pulls him flush against him, head tilting – until a hand on his mouth halts his movement. 

“No kissing.”

And yet still, Saeki shakes his head and pushes Ryou’s hand out of the way – easy, too easy, Ryou is much scrawnier than he ever was before, but his lips still feel the same, soft and pliant underneath his own, parting when he swipes his tongue over them, and he’s utterly certain that the sound Ryou makes is not one of protest when he catches his lower lip between his teeth, nips on it lightly. 

He hadn’t gotten to kiss Ryou often, back then, and now it sends a heady rush through him, makes him forget that he’s paying the love of his life for pleasure. 

It’s with practiced precision that he presses him down against the sheets, bats his hands away when Ryou moves to undress. He wants to do this himself, wants to relish the feeling of finally having him like a lover, even if it’s a lie.

Ryou opens up easily around his fingers, and Saeki pretends that it’s because he’s just as eager as he is, not because he’s done this countless times before with other men. It’s easy, too, with the sounds Ryou is making, small whines and moans, his hips rolling to urge him on, clinging to him tightly, intimately when he finally pushes inside. 

He looks gorgeous like this, just like Saeki had always thought he would, spread out underneath him, a few errantstrands of hair sticking to his face, gasping for air when Saeki pulls out nearly completely and then pushes back in in one quick thrust. 

Beautiful even when Saeki repeatedly drives him to the edge and then doesn’t let him cum, tears clinging to his eyelashes as he begs for release, screaming silently when Saeki finally lets him, and it’s all he’s ever imagined and more, the very sight making him lose it as well. He fucks him through his orgasm because he can, because he wants to, wants to burn the image of Ryou squirming on his cock into his mind. 

He regrets the condom then, wanting to fill Ryou up with his seed, wanting him to feel Saeki even when he cleans himself up after, his hands absentmindedly running through Ryou’s hair after he collapses on top of him, his softening cock still inside of the man he’s loved for years. 

“Again. Please. I’ll pay extra,” he mutters into Ryou’s hair, not wanting it to be over just yet. Perhaps Ryou’ll let him have his mouth this time. Or just his hand would be enough, really, Saeki isn’t even picky. How long has he craved for this, imagined his partners were Ryou? No, he can’t go, not just yet. 

Ryou is already dressed again by the time he comes to. Perhaps he’d overdone it, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. Nor care about the fact that he’d literally just bought intimacy from the one man he’d ever loved. He’s not that good a person anymore. And yet…

“Why are you even doing this?” That should have been the first question to come to his mind the moment Saeki saw Ryou’s name on that list, but then he hadn’t been thinking very rationally at that point.

The stare he receives in response is cold, much colder than any way Ryou had ever looked at him before. “Why should I tell a stranger who’s just looking for a quick fuck?”

A stranger. The word hurts more than that cold stare, more than the way Ryou had initially refused to so much as kiss him.

“I’m Saeki Kojirou. Sae-san. You really don’t remember me?”

Ryou always had an excellent poker face, and that’s one thing that apparently hadn’t ever changed. There isn’t even the slightest flicker of recognition in his eyes as he unlocks the door, the same iciness to his gaze that was there before.

“I can’t remember the name of every guy who fucks me. Hurry up and get out, I have other customers too.”

Other customers. Saeki swallows heavily when the door closes behind Ryou. It’s not something he wants to think about. But he _will_ make Ryou remember him now that he’s finally found him again.

Even if he has to keep buying him  



End file.
